


Kill The Light

by Meep_Morp



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt Percy Jackson, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Rape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Annabeth Chase, but i will add them as necessary don't worry, warnings are unmarked for this because i have planned NOTHING
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meep_Morp/pseuds/Meep_Morp
Summary: Percy was really looking forward to a nice evening with his girlfriend. Instead, a monster gets the drop on him.Everything goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Paul Blofis/Sally Jackson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you've read anything by me before, I know exactly what you're going to say.
> 
> "Josh," you're saying, "you said you would write the next part of your Endgame fixit" or "where the fuck is my Apotheosis sequel you bastard"
> 
> And you know what, that's totally fair. I'm a terrible person.
> 
> This is written after Heroes of Olympus but before Trials of Apollo.

Percy had a lot of respect for tradition.

Well, most of the time. If the tradition was something archaic and horrible, like ignoring all your demigod offspring which eventually led to an uprising that nearly ended the world, then he’d happily light the pyre for that tradition.

But Bad Movie Saturday? Morning coffee run? Blue pancakes? _Highly_ sacred.

But on this particular night, Bad Movie Saturday was in jeopardy, and Percy was _not_ amused.

He, his mom, Annabeth, and Paul would order pizza, crowd around the TV in the Jackson-Blofis apartment, find the worst-looking films they possibly could, and settle in for a night of bad acting, cheesy one-liners, and cheap special effects.

It was _tradition._

“I know it’s tradition, honey,” Sally said, in the middle of buttoning up her coat. “But this is a work function—Paul can’t skip it. And I told him I’d go with him to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of anyone’s speech. Again.”

“Yeah.” From his spot on the couch, Percy glanced over his shoulder to look at her. “I know. It’s okay.”

He knew it was mildly unreasonable (and _childish_ ) to be annoyed over something like this. He wasn’t _really_ mad. There would be plenty of other Saturdays.

Ever since Gaia’s defeat, Percy had been cherishing the days spent with his family—well, more than he usually did. He still made time for Camp Half-Blood, but with Sally pregnant and no world-ending prophecies on the horizon, he wanted to take advantage of his well-earned respite.

So maybe he was a _little_ grumpy about Bad Movie Saturday being cancelled, but when you face the _actual_ end of the world twice, you stop sweating the small stuff.

“You know I wouldn’t—”

“It’s _okay,_ Mom,” he repeated with a laugh, getting up and approaching her as she headed for the door. “I’m still gonna call Annabeth, maybe see if Jason and Piper or Nico and Will are around.” It would be nice to see Hazel and Frank too, but they were on the other side of the country at Camp Jupiter.

“Okay. If you do, give them my love,” Sally replied with a smile. Then it turned coy. “You and Annabeth have a good time without us. Be responsible—”

“Mom!” Percy immediately flung toward the door and opened it, his ears red. “Paul’s waiting for you!”

She laughed, and pulled him in to kiss his cheek, before stepping through the doorway. “Love you. See you later.”

“I love you too. Have fun.”

After she left, Percy was left to his own devices. It was only five’o’clock—still early enough to plan something with his friends.

He walked into his bedroom, where there was a tiny fountain—some knick-knack Paul had gotten him last year—on his windowsill. Percy waved a hand, commanding the water. It began to float up, like the inside of a lava lamp, then dispersed into a fine mist.

The sun was setting, but there was enough light shining through the window to hit the mist and refract into a rainbow. As soon as it did, Percy fished out a drachma and flipped it through the colors.

“O Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering.”

The drachma vanished, payment accepted.

“Connect me to Annabeth Chase.”

The rainbow shimmered, materializing into the view of a room Percy recognized as the Athena cabin. On a workbench (one of a few) in the corner, sat his girlfriend.

Actually, she was slumped over the workbench’s face, using her various rolls of parchment, notebooks, and a very big architecture textbook as bedding. Her blond hair was thrown all around the desk, like a web of golden seaweed, and she was snoring. It must have been decently loud, because it came through the Iris Message just fine.

She was the most beautiful person Percy had ever seen.

He snorted, unable to help a little burst of laughter, and Annabeth immediately shot awake, blinking blearily. Her gaze focused on Percy, who instantly regretted making a sound.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’re fine,” she replied, voice thick with sleep. There were bags under her eyes. She frowned, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, gods! It’s five! I’m sorry, I’ll be right over—”

He waved away her words. “Don’t worry, Annabeth. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

She was still heading the remodeling of Olympus. Even after all this time, a decent portion of the gods’ realm still bore evidence of Kronos’ rampage. Annabeth took the project extremely seriously, even to the point of ignoring food and sleep. Sometimes Percy had to drag her away from her work.

“Besides,” he added, as she scrambled to put away her papers. “Movie night’s off. My mom had to go to a work thing with Paul.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I had this really awful one picked out, too. It was about giant sentient eggplants. They had faces and everything.”

His lips twitched. “Well, maybe _we_ can still watch it? Not like you’re barred from the apartment or anything.”

“Definitely. It’ll take me a little bit to get there, though. Rush hour traffic.”

“What about Nico and Will? I was thinking of inviting them too. You three can shadow travel over.”

“They already have plans,” another voice said, unseen. Percy recognized it as another veteran Athena camper, Malcolm. “According to Will’s sister, he was stressing out about some kind of late-night date they have.”

Annabeth smirked. “Aw, young love. Remember when you were like that, Percy?”

“Nope. No idea what you’re talking about.”

There was a round of laughter from the Athena cabin. It sounded like even more campers were there, offscreen. Was the whole cabin watching them?

“Alright, well, what about Jason and Piper? Grover?”

“He’s off in the deep South somewhere,” Annabeth replied, shaking her head. “As for Jason and Piper, they’re not even here. Piper took Jason to introduce him to her dad.”

“I thought they already met?”

“Well, yeah, but this is more of a proper ‘threaten the boyfriend with a shovel’ introduction, I think.”

Percy blinked. Why was he the last to know everything? “Huh. Good for them. Well, maybe not for Jason. Alright, it’s just you and me then.”

“How disappointing for you.”

“Totally. I was really looking forward to Piper doing my hair again.”

She laughed, looking more awake than before. “I’ll see you soon, Seaweed Brain.”

“Later, Wise Girl. Love you.”

He waved a hand through the mist, ending the call. Then he clapped his hands together excitedly. Movie night was back on! Now they just needed pizza to finish salvaging it.

 _Sal’s_ was the only place nearby that Percy trusted for pizza, for two very good reasons. One, Sal was a grandson of Demeter, so the establishment was always guaranteed to be free of monsters. Two, no one knew how to do a thick crust like Sal.

He dialed from the apartment’s landline, ordering the usual. The wait wasn’t bad—thirty minutes. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the apartment.

He tidied up the living room while he waited, and tended to Calypso’s flowers growing outside the fire escape. Lately that had become a somber task—whenever he thought of her, he now thought of Leo. In a way, Percy supposed he treated the flowers like a memorial for the son of Hephaestus. It just felt right.

Afterward, he threw on a hoodie, locked up the apartment, and left.

The sun had set even further, bathing the sky in shades of purple and orange. It was more dark than light out now, and the further Percy walked the more he noticed car headlights and street lights flipping on. The days were getting shorter and colder—winter hadn’t yet arrived, but it was beginning to make its presence known. Percy tucked his head in as a chill wind brushed past. He was looking forward to warming his hands on the pizza boxes.

 _Sal’s_ was just a straight shot down the sidewalk from the apartment. It wasn’t a complex route at all, just a long walk. But there were less people outside than Percy expected so he found himself reaching his destination more quickly. The little shop was nestled on a street corner, just under an apartment that also belonged to the proprietor.

When Percy pushed the door open, its bell jingled. A broad-shouldered man wearing an apron waved at him from behind the counter. 

“Hey, Percy. Movie night?”

“Always, Sal,” he replied, already pulling cash out of his wallet. He knew how much it cost—they rarely deviated from their usual order.

He handed it over, and Sal rang up the transaction on his register.

“So how’s camp? Everything holding together?”

“Knock on wood, yeah.” Percy accepted the change and receipt. “How about here? Any trouble?”

“Nah.” Sal jerked his head to the right. Percy followed the direction with his eyes, and noticed a raggedly-looking man curled up in a booth at the far end of the restaurant. He was asleep, and there was an empty plate on the table in front of him. “Thought there might have been a cyclops or somethin’ hanging around, but it was just a bum looking for someplace to crash.”

Percy smiled. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a good person, Sal?”

His brow furrowed. “No. Why, d’you hear something?”

They both chuckled a little. Sal pulled two pizza boxes off the top of the oven behind him, and handed them over.

“Say hi to your folks for me.”

“Will do.” Percy set down a few bills for a tip, then grabbed the boxes—gods, that warmth felt _so_ good—and headed for home.

About halfway through the walk back, he noticed something was off.

Sometimes the Mist alerted him to a monster’s presence in ways other than sight—the hair on his arms standing up, a chill down his spine, a quickened pulse. The warning signs weren’t always visual.

Someone was following him.

When he reached the next block, Percy made a show of looking both ways before crossing the street, and took that opportunity to glance behind him.

The homeless man was several yards away. Far enough away that most people wouldn’t assume he was following them, but Percy wasn’t most people. He couldn’t see his face behind the bundled clothes and scarf he wore.

It wasn’t impossible for Sal to make a mistake—he was a legacy, so his perception through the Mist wasn’t as strong a demigod’s or someone with Clear Sight. His godly lineage usually wasn’t enough to even _attract_ a monster—what brought them was the demigods who used his pizza shop as a safe haven on their way to Camp Half-Blood.

Percy, on the other hand...he was a child of the Big Three. To monsters, he might as well be wearing neon lights with a big sign that said, “EAT ME!”

He acted quickly, slipping into the next alleyway he passed. Setting the pizza boxes down on the ground beside him, Percy eased into a crouch, pulled out his pen, and waited.

He didn’t need to wait long to spring his trap. As soon as the monster’s tattered green jacket appeared in his vision, Percy seized him by its front and slammed him into the opposite alley wall. His thumb pressed on the cap of Riptide, about the push it off—

“Hey! Hey! What do you want from me?”

The panic in the monster’s voice made him hesitate. Percy took another look, eyes narrowing, and…

Nothing. He just looked like a human. A terrified human, but still.

He let go of the man, who crumpled to the ground, and stepped back.

“Oh, gods.”

Sal wasn’t the only one who could make a mistake. Demigods—especially ones who managed to live longer—had trouble adjusting to life outside camp for a few reasons, but one of them was an inability to distinguish what was a threat and what wasn’t. Annabeth said it was the same thing as soldiers returning from overseas with PTSD, and Percy wasn’t sure how he felt about that label, but the behavior matched. He’d never really had problems with it—for all the crap that he’d been through, he was incredibly grounded.

Except ever since Tartarus, things were a little different. Nightmares were a little more intense, and he found himself jumping at shadows more often than was normal. Annabeth was the same way too. They leaned on each other for support when one of them was having particularly bad days. According to Will, Nico exhibited similar behavior.

Even disregarding Tartarus, pretty much every demigod had baggage of some kind. But never before had Percy _attacked a mortal_ because of his.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare didn’t count. That was an accident.

Logically, he knew Riptide wouldn’t have hurt the man. Celestial Bronze would have passed right through him, and unless he had Clear Sight the Mist would have shown Percy swinging a pen at him, not a sword.

But still, as he realized what he’d done, he felt an overwhelming amount of shame flood through him.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, torn between stepping back even further or helping the man pick himself up. “I...I didn’t...I thought you were someone else...”

The man gave him a look like he didn’t buy that, which Percy accepted was fair.

“Um...” Scrambling for a way to rectify the situation, Percy turned around and picked up the pizza boxes. “Do...do you want a slice? Apology pizza. Ever heard of that?”

The man eyed the pizza with interest, and his gaze flicked back to Percy’s face. Then, two things happened.

One, the homeless man’s eyes widened very quickly.

Two, goosebumps exploded up Percy’s arms as adrenaline flooded his veins.

He didn’t even get a chance to turn all the way around before something exploded against the back of his head. Everything went black, and he was lost to the void.

* * *

When Percy awoke, to say he felt like shit was an understatement. His head pounded something fierce, and he felt like he’d sparred ten rounds with Tyson. He was lying prone on cold, hard stone, and groaned quietly at the discomfort. As more information flooded his senses, he became aware of a few things.

One, his wrists were very tightly tied together behind his back, and it was killing his shoulders. The bonds felt like plastic, and they dug into his skin. Zip-ties?

Two, there was a metal ring around his throat—not tight enough to cut off his air supply, but most definitely uncomfortable. There was also a slight weight just in front of his Adam’s apple, and upon turning his head experimentally he confirmed that there was indeed a chain attached to it.

Three, he had similar clasps around his ankles, which were also individually chained.

He got up onto his knees, looking around. 

The room was dark. Percy’s eyesight was better than most—adapted for deep-sea environments—but in a complete absence of illumination, he was totally blind. He couldn’t even make out shadows. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with dry, stale air—and that confirmed his theory.

Unless there was magic in play—if so, someone went to a _lot_ of trouble to trick him—he was definitely indoors. This kind of darkness couldn’t be achieved under an open sky. Four walls, a roof, no windows. No easy way out.

He decided to test his bonds. It was difficult, but not impossible, to stand up—the collar resisted his pull, though not strongly. However, there was absolutely no slack from the chains around his ankles—they went taut after a few steps forward and refused to give.

Percy backpedaled to roughly where he’d started and kicked one leg, listening to the chain jostle and scrape against the ground. The sound continued for several feet, meaning their fastening well out of arm’s reach. When he attempted to follow the chains and pinpoint where exactly they were bolted into the ground, the one attached to his collar went taut and yanked him forward. 

He sighed, mulling over the new information. So, his movement was limited to that of about a two-foot radius. It wasn’t much to work with.

Suddenly a loud groan cut through the room, followed by an echoing thud. Percy had just enough time to think that it sounded like a gigantic lock, before the wall in front of him swung inward. Light burst in, making him recoil and shield his eyes. After waiting a moment to let them properly adjust, he cautiously lowered his hands.

The light was artificial, and it revealed all the room’s secrets to him. Percy saw, with some degree of pride, that he had been correct about his measurements and the dimensions—he was in an indoor room with no windows, and his shackles were positioned several feet behind him, well out of reach. The chain attached to his neck fed into the ground, where it disappeared for a few feet before emerging from another hole in the floor and going straight up. It fed into a simple-looking pulley system attached to the ceiling, returning to dangle like the cord of an old-fashioned lamp, just to the right of the newly-created doorway.

What stood in the doorway, however, quickly grabbed Percy’s attention.

His first thought was that it looked like a tar pit that had come to life. The monster’s entire body was black and viscous, somewhere between solid and liquid. It was humanoid in size and shape, but much skinnier. Its fingers were longer than a person’s, and ended in clawed tips. The monster’s eyes were pale white, devoid of a pupil or iris.

His second thought was after the initial shock, this monster wasn’t nearly as outlandish as other beings from Greek Mythology—assuming it _was_ Greek. Sure, its appearance was unsettling, but it hardly had the same effect as a horde of snake women, or a chimera, or a _flying pig._

So, he told it as much. “Man, you look like a comic book reject.”

The creature smiled—and Percy immediately wished it hadn’t.

Once, at age five, he’d gotten laid up in bed with a particularly nasty cold. It had been one of the rare occasions where Percy got command of the TV over Gabe. He watched cartoons, as most young children do, but took extra pleasure in them because Gabe _hated_ them. For an entire week, the Jackson-Ugliano household was animation central. He would turn on _Pokémon,_ or _Spongebob Squarepants,_ or even _Dora the Explorer,_ just out of spite. He also watched and rewatched all the Disney classics, save for one—the 1951 _Alice in Wonderland._ The movie itself was pretty tame, but at such a young age the Chesire Cat had unnerved him. Looking back, Percy couldn’t even call it a fear—he’d just been creeped out by the music and the image of the cat’s too-wide smile.

When this monster smiled, it made the Chesire Cat look completely harmless. The corners of its mouth stretched up, _way_ up, and its lips parted to reveal a mass of thin, needle-like teeth.

Percy quashed the instinctive urge to recoil. Instead, he met the creature’s gaze unflinchingly. “Ew.”

Its smile relaxed. Its alien face was hard to read, but it almost looked like it had settled into casual amusement. “I’ve been looking forward to this, Perseus Jackson.”

A chill ran down Percy’s spine. Its voice was high, cold, and sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Yeah, you and a billion other monsters. Except I don’t actually know who you are, so...”

It cocked its head, like a puzzled puppy. “Do you usually get on a first-name basis with monsters?”

“Believe me, I try not to. And yet...” Percy shrugged as comfortably as his bound arms would allow. He made a show of looking around the room. “First time one of them put me in a place like this, though. Very serial killer-esque. You watch a lot of Criminal Minds?”

Evidently the monster didn’t know how to answer that, because the question was ignored. It simply stared at him, its face an indecipherable mask.

Percy sighed, and decided to keep talking. “Well, I definitely didn’t kill you—”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

He blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “I think I would have remembered killing Venom’s wimpier little brother. Get it? Like I said, comic book reject.”

A shrill little chuckle escaped from the monster. It stepped forward, and Percy immediately took one step back.

“Anyways,” Percy continued, a little louder. His gaze locked on the open door behind the creature. The only thing beyond was the blank, featureless wall of a hallway. That meant this room was in a larger building, not standalone. “If I didn’t kill you, then what’s your beef with me? Don’t tell me you go to all this trouble for _every_ demigod?”

He received another hiss of laughter. “Clever. Mother told me you were more than you appeared. I suppose you’d have to be, to have survived so much and earned her ire.”

“Mother?” Percy latched onto the clue. Mythology was never his strong suit—Annabeth’s extensive knowledge usually had him spoiled in that department. Still, a guessing game was likely better than whatever plans the creature had for him. “Gaia?”

That earned him a derisive snort.

“Uh...Echidna?” Wasn’t she the mother of all monsters?

The monster tsked, crossing its arms. “No, Jackson. Think older.”

Percy wracked his brain for another contender. There were probably several female Titans that wanted his head on a plate, but he didn’t know any of their names. Besides, none of the Titans were older than Gaia. So who did that leave?

Only one name came to him, it made his blood freeze. _Shit._ “Nyx?”

With startling speed, the monster pulled down the chain dangling beside the doorway. Percy had a split second to remember where that chain led, before the lead attached to the collar around his neck yanked him to the floor. He fell to his knees, unable to rise as the chain locked in place like a seat belt.

The monster stepped closer to him, and knelt down so that they were eye level. With one hand, it reached out and cupped his chin, tilting his head up slightly so that Percy was forced to bare his throat.

“Oh,” it hissed, with breath which smelled like rotting meat. “Not _quite_ that old.”

 _Who the hell else was there?_ Percy shouted at himself. He couldn’t speak—the creature’s powerful fingers were gripping his jaw shut, and he was too busy trying to get as much air in through his nostrils as possible. It was much harder to breathe in this position.

“I am Lysimar,” the monster continued, a dangerous growl rising in its voice. “Son of Akhlys, the Queen of Misery. A phaemorph. My kind have not ventured out of Tartarus in eons, Jackson. We feed on suffering, but humans have learned how to torment each other all by themselves. We don’t need to risk our necks coming to this fetid swamp of a world—instead, we just wait for them in the Underworld. Instead, the food _comes_ to _us._ So imagine my surprise, when Mother commanded me to go to the surface. All for some Olympian mongrel. All for _you.”_

He let go, and Percy fell backward—only to be yanked back into a kneeling position by the chain. He coughed into the ground and heaved deep breaths, trying to get more precious oxygen.

Akhlys. _Akhlys._ He hadn’t thought of the primordial goddess in ages—not since leaving Tartarus. He didn’t like to think about that moment, when he had been at his lowest and his darkest. He’d overpowered her, turned her own poison against her, and left her a sniveling heap at his feet. Of _course_ she would hold a grudge against him. Enough to send one of her kids after him.

“You humiliated her,” Lysimar said, after another moment of listening to Percy’s rasping. “There’s a price to be paid for that.”

“So—so you’re—” He gave another great, chest-rattling cough, and said in a clearer voice. “You’re gonna kill me? I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, no,” Lysimar cooed, and Percy did _not_ like that sickly-sweet tone. “No, little mongrel! Why would I kill you? That would send you straight to Elysium, where you would know peace and happiness forever. No, my instructions were very, _very_ specific.”

“Then what?” Percy managed to keep the rising fear out of his voice. If Lysimar was going to take him back to Tartarus...he didn’t think he could survive that place a second time. Not without Annabeth. 

“Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is, Jackson?”

Percy was about to respond reflexively with “your mom” but held his tongue at the last moment. Instead, he replied, “A Cyclops after eating Taco Bell. Really bad combination.”

Lysimar seized him again, this time digging his fingers into his shoulder. Percy let out a shout as pain flashed across his collarbone, and blood began to well up under his chest. Those claws had pierced the skin. They hadn’t gone deep, but it still _hurt._

“Is that your final answer?”

“You bet,” Percy shot back defiantly. He leveled his best Wolf Stare at his captor. Lysimar paused, scrutinizing him with pale eyes, and for a moment Percy thought he’d turned the tables.

But then Lysimar released his shoulder, and stood up. “I expected you to say something like love. Love is certainly destructive, but not the most powerful. _Hope_ is.” His eyes narrowed down at Percy in a disdainful stare. “Hope keeps a person alive when everything else is gone. It is a wish—for a second chance, for a better day, for a reason to keep going. It allows people to do great _and_ terrible things. With it, people will venture into the unknown with nothing but the shield of their faith. The wisest gods know to fear a mortal who wields hope as their weapon.”

Percy expected him to attack again, but instead Lysimar simply turned and strode for the doorway. Before closing the door, he smiled that horrifically toothy smile again.

“So that is what I’m going to take away from you.”

Then he slammed the door, plunging Percy into darkness. He heard the sound of the lock turning, bolting the exit shut, and then...silence.

“Shit,” he cursed softly, to himself.

Lysimar hadn’t released the lock on his chains—he was still stuck on his knees. Percy shifted his legs, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position. Then he felt a familiar shape between his thigh and jeans, and his eyes widened.

Lysimar had attacked him before he’d managed to uncap his weapon. Either he hadn’t bothered to search Percy, or he didn’t know that Riptide always returned to his pocket. Either way, there was no mistaking the pen shoved in the front of his jeans. He couldn’t believe he hadn't thought of it already.

In the dark, Percy grinned. It was a start—his hands were still bound behind his back, so he couldn’t draw it, but at least he had his weapon.

Lysimar had been right about one thing. Hope _was_ powerful. It reinvigorated him, spurred him to forge onward. He’d been in situations much worse than this!

He was going to get out of here.

He was going to get free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on Fallout (Endgame fixit) and Convalescence (Apotheosis sequel). I promise. But with quarantine fever kicking in I had a profound urge to revisit my old PJO stomping grounds. Except, this time I'm actually going to PUBLISH the fanfic that I write. Shocking!
> 
> Lysimar is an incredibly old character, back from my days on FFN. He was not initially concieved with Akhlys as his mama, because House of Hades hadn't been written yet (THAT'S how old he is) and I didn't know Akhlys existed. But now I do, and honestly it works. Still, I would appreciate any feedback on him.
> 
> By the way, if it's not clear, you're gonna have to wait for the comfort. First the hurt. Then the comfort. Because that's how I roll. If you're interested in the fic but want to know if there's certain content in it that would make you blacklist it, don't hesitate to ask me and I will tell you. I don't have a script for this fic but I do have some pretty firm boundaries on what I will and won't write. You can also hit me up on tumblr @gayspiderboy if that's preferable to you.
> 
> Stay safe.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy tries to escape, with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 9 months late with Starbucks* heyyyy
> 
> I wanted to read whump but couldn't find anything that scratched the itch and then I remembered hey, dumbass, you started a whumpfic yourself go write what you want to read and put it in that.

Despite her attempts, Annabeth was finding it difficult to remain calm.

She’d arrived at Percy’s apartment around six, and found the door locked. There was a note below the peephole:

_ Went to Sal’s for pizza. Be back soon. _

_ — Percy _

She’d waited approximately twenty minutes outside the apartment before heading down the street to see what had held him up. However, upon arriving, Sal told her that Percy had picked up the pizza nearly an hour ago.

That was when the first beginnings of panic had begun to set in. 

As she fast-walked back to the apartment, Annabeth pulled out her cell. They were a risk for demigods to carry, so she only used it for emergencies—she’d had yet to regret purchase.

Sally picked up on the second ring. “Annabeth? What’s wrong?”

She was a smart woman.

“Percy.” She kept her voice controlled as she entered the building. “I can’t find him. He left a note saying he was going to Sal’s, but Sal says he left a while ago.”

“Did you check inside the apartment?”

“It’s locked.”

“The spare key’s under the mat.”

She fished it out as soon as she arrived at the door, unlocked the door, and hurried inside. A quick glance around the living room and kitchen revealed no one. She checked each bedroom and bathroom. Her anxiety heightened with each empty room.

“No, he’s definitely not here.”

“Have you Iris Messaged him?”

Annabeth cursed her own stupidity. She should have done that first! “No. Let me try that. I’ll call you back.” There was no reason to keep an open line, in case anything was listening.

She hung up, and from her other pocket, pulled out a drachma and a little crystal prism about the size of a walnut. She turned off the lights in the kitchen, then set the prism down on the counter diagonal from the refrigerator. Cracking the fridge door open so that a sliver of light peeked out, Annabeth nudged the prism into the light’s path until a rainbow was visible. Fortunately, Paul was a bit of an energy-saver, and the lights in the apartment were fluorescent instead of the traditional incandescent. Those wouldn’t have produced as strong a rainbow.

She all but hurled the drachma through the rainbow. “O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show me Percy Jackson!”

The rainbow shimmered, and then its image began to change. However, instead of a picture, all it showed Annabeth was dark grey static.

Her blood ran cold. What did that mean? If Iris couldn’t find him, did that mean...was Percy  _ dead? _

Gods, what was happening?

——

He was still stiff and sore.

Percy had almost—almost—tried to escape that night, but the cuts in his shoulder still hurt and getting captured had been an exhausting ordeal. If he was going to fight his way out of here, he needed the strength to do it.

None of the slack had been released on his chains, but he’d been unwilling to sleep on his knees (if that were even possible). He’d eventually been able to contort himself into a prone position on the floor. Still, discomfort and a fear of letting his guard down meant sleep took hours to claim him. 

When Percy’s eyes finally cracked open, the cramped muscles in his body immediately protested any movement. Still, he attempted to get up with a groan, only for the chains to stop him once more.

Since he couldn’t stand up, he settled for sitting cross-legged on the floor. His hands were still tied behind his back, and for a moment he wondered if he could slip his arms under his legs, so that he could just grab Riptide from his front pocket without a fuss.

Several minutes of failed attempts proved he was not, in fact, that flexible.

For his next trick, Percy arched his back and twisted his torso, attempting to pick his pocket from behind. This was more successful—the zip-ties and his stiff shoulders made it difficult, but not impossible. His fingers brushed against the belt loop on his hip. Almost...almost…

There was a loud booming sound as the massive lock on his cell door turned. Unable to reach his weapon in time, Percy forced himself to give up and return to a normal sitting position just as the door opened.

“Good morning, little mongrel,” Lysimar greeted, cheerily as he approached. “Sleep well?”

“Screw you.”

The retort had slipped out of his mouth before he could reconsider it. In that same instant, Lysimar’s clawed hand whipped across his face with startling speed. Percy yelped in surprise as he recoiled from the blow, feeling blood drip from a cut on his cheek.

“That was very rude of you,” Lysimar scolded, but still speaking in a playful, condescending tone. 

Then, he lunged toward the hole in Percy’s hoodie, and the shoulder injury beneath. As soon as he came into contact with bare skin, the black ooze that made up his body leached into it like water being soaked up by earth.

Percy decided he did  _ not _ like whatever was happening, and tried to pull away. But Lysimar’s hand just moved with him, stretching like an elastic now that they were connected. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Phaemorphs don’t have a lot of tricks up our sleeves,” the monster explained. “But we  _ are _ similar to something called an Eidolon.”

Oh,  _ hell _ no. Percy struggled even more furiously. He’d been possessed once, he was not about to let it happen again. Even as he did, however, he felt something touch his mind, an invisible tendril of malice which wormed its way straight into his brain. 

_ Oh my. What secrets do we have buried in here? _

_ No...get OUT! _

His vision flashed silver, and Lysimar recoiled as if burned, removing his hand from Percy’s shoulder.

“Curious,” he hissed. There was no playful tone in his voice anymore. “You’ve either been warded against possession, or you’re incredibly strong-willed.”

“Maybe you should just cut your losses,” Percy spat, allowing himself to feel a little victorious. “I’m too much trouble to keep around.”

But Lysimar shook his head. “Not to worry—I like a challenge.”

Then he reached out to touch Percy a second time, and their battle of wills began again.

It was as if Lysimar had taken a melon baller to his psyche. The sensation transcended physical pain—he could  _ feel _ the monster’s malice scraping away at the layers of his mind. Bits and pieces of thought came off with every strike, like loose dirt from an animal’s burrowing. His vision wobbled, blurring and then focusing, as Percy attempted to hold fast against the assault.

Yet, awful as it was, it was not unbearable. Percy had held up the sky, he’d bathed in the River Styx, he’d trekked through Tartarus—stacked up to those feats, what Lysimar was putting him through didn’t compare.

Vindication surged through him as, once again, his vision flashed silver and Lysimar released the hold on his mind with a frustrated snarl.

“Is that all you got?”

——

After the fourth attempt to invade his mind, Percy’s legs wobbled, and he nearly collapsed. However, he managed to keep himself upright at the last moment. He wouldn’t give Lysimar the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

“I suppose I should be impressed. But your spirit will not protect you forever, Jackson.”

Percy just spit at his feet. It wasn’t a particularly powerful gesture—his mouth was incredibly dry. Lysimar hadn’t given him food or water at all since his imprisonment began. Judging by the rumbling in his stomach, he had been in Lysimar's clutches for maybe twelve hours. Hunger was churning around in his belly, but it was easily ignored for now.

He needed privacy, even for just a moment, to grab Riptide. He needed Lysimar to  _ leave. _

As a clawed hand reached toward him for the fifth time, Percy hastily said, “Wait!”

To his slight surprise, Lysimar did pause. “Yes?”

“I...I’m hungry.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, before Lysimar let out a high-pitched hiss of laughter. Percy was really starting to hate that sound.

“Am I supposed to care about that?”

“Only if you wanna keep me alive,” Percy shot back, and Lysimar’s smile faded. “Akhlys wants me alive so you can mess me up, right? That’ll be hard to do after I’ve starved to death. I don’t know how often phaemorph need to eat, but for humans it’s pretty often.”

Evidently Lysimar  _ hadn’t _ considered this, because his lip curled with disdain. He was clearly mulling over Percy's words. After another moment, he stepped away.

“You’ve brought yourself a reprieve, mongrel. Do enjoy it while you can.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, and darkness invaded, Percy redoubled his efforts to obtain Riptide. He twisted his spine, flopping around on the floor like a worm. Once again he felt the belt loop on his hip, and reached further.

_ Almost...YES! _

Riptide slid into his palm neatly, and Percy let out a shaky, triumphant breath. The first step to his escape was over. Now, he could focus on the other obstacles in his way.

Riptide could cut through the zipties binding his wrists together easily, and he was pretty sure it could take care of these chains, since they didn’t appear to be enchanted or otherwise magical.

Percy wanted to get free  _ now, _ but he had no idea where he’d been imprisoned, nor exactly where his captor was. Lysimar was a monster, so Riptide would cut him down, but the last thing he needed was to get reckless. As much as it pained him, he needed the right opportunity to strike.

He didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, Lysimar returned with an old piece of bread clutched in one hand. 

“Eat,” he commanded, thrusting out the stale food at him.

Percy stared at it. He looked up at Lysimar.

Then, behind his back, he pushed the cap off Riptide.

The bronze sword bloomed into existence, effortlessly cutting through the zip-tie. Percy didn’t waste any time—he swung his weapon in a deadly arc across his front, slicing off Lysimar’s outstretched arm at the elbow. The phaemorph shrieked in pain, grabbing the sizzling stump and backing up several feet. He’d moved out of range, but Percy had already moved on to another target. The chain attached to his collar snapped under Riptide’s force as easily as the zip-tie had. Now only the shackles around his legs were left.

A howl caught his attention, and Percy whipped his blade at Lysimar just in time to catch him mid-lunge. He severed the monster’s other arm at the shoulder, and as the second limb fell to the ground and Lysimar screeched again, Percy grinned.

“Not so tough now, huh?”

He kicked his captor away, then bent down and, jamming Riptide into their locks, shattered the shackles around his ankles—

Something caught his injured shoulder and propelled him backward. Riptide flew out of his grip as the harpoon—at least, that's what it felt like—pinned him to the wall as if he were an ornament.

It happened so fast that Percy couldn't stop his yell of shock and pain. But then the object lodged in his shoulder twisted, and his voice rose an octave as the noise turned into an embarrassing shriek. It  _ hurt. _ It felt like acid had been dumped into the wound, poison coursing through his veins instead of blood.

After a moment the movement subsided, as did the agony, and he was able to bring his vision back into focus.

Lysimar had morphed his hand into a blade and extended it across the room to skewer him. He looked livid, and…

Wait. Percy had cut off  _ both _ his arms! What was that about?

No sooner had he had the thought did he get his answer. Lysimar's other arm, still a stump, began to elongate and grow into a new forearm. Then a wrist, hand, fingers, and those sharp claws.

Great. He could regenerate missing limbs. What else was there to know about this guy?

"I'm really  _ so _ glad you're fighting back," he snarled. He didn't exactly have lips, but a long tongue slipped out to lick at the corners of his mouth regardless. "I don't like having my time wasted. That said, I think it's time we lay down some ground rules."

He began walking forward, taking care to keep Percy pinned to the wall. The extra length of his spear-arm melted back into his body, as if it had never stretched itself out in the first place.

"Rule number one. No more escape attempts. Otherwise I'll be forced to take  _ drastic measures, _ and you really, really don't want it to come to that."

"Bite me," Percy grunted. 

The monster's smile turned positively lecherous, and it made something cold shrivel up in his stomach.

"If you're a good boy, I just might. If not...well, I'm sure I can find someone else to have fun with. All I'd have to do is follow your scent."

Percy froze. He didn't mean...

"You might have resisted my attempts to get inside your skull, but I don't need to read your mind to find people you care about," Lysimar explained in that horrible voice of his. "You think I found you by luck? Your pops is one of the Big Three, come on! It wasn't hard to sniff you out. All I have to do is follow your scent until I find someone  _ drenched _ in it. A mortal parent? Siblings? Mother mentioned another demigod, a girl, was with you. She would be  _ easy _ to find. Friend of yours, perhaps?"

"I'll kill you," Percy swore, willing every ounce of hatred he could muster into a glare at his captor. "You hear me? I will!"

"Ah, must be a  _ special _ friend."

Lysimar wrenched his arm out of Percy's shoulder, letting him crumple to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Blindly, he scrambled for Riptide, only to wince as Lysimar's hand splattered against his back, pinning him to the stone floor. He wasn't even close enough for his fingers to brush the sword's hilt.

"I don't repeat threats, mongrel. Last chance. Play along, or I'll go find your little girlfriend and bring you back her head."

_ Annabeth. _ He couldn't let this maniac go after her. By now she'd know that something had gotten him, if she wasn't already on her way to save him. She was so smart, smarter than any dumb monster.

He'd take a thousand years of pain just to spare her one. He'd take whatever Lysimar threw at him if it meant she'd be safe. So there was no question for him. if he had to choose between trying to escape, or offering himself up to give Annabeth time to save him? There was no question.

"Alright."

"Wonderful!" Lysimar trilled, as if Percy had just accepted an invitation to his tea party. He glanced off into the corner of the room, where Riptide lay. "A curious weapon. It wasn't on you when I brought you inside. How did it get here?"

When Percy hesitated, the pressure on his back tightened warningly.

"It's a pen," he answered slowly. "It turns into a pen. That's how."

That was the truth. Not the whole truth, of course—but Lysimar didn't need to know that Riptide would come back to him.

"Hm." Lysimar's other hand, the one not holding him down, snaked across the room to pluck Riptide up. As soon as his fingers touched the Celestial Bronze weapon, they began to hiss and steam as if boiling. With a disgusted cry, Lysimar tossed it through the open door of Percy's cell, letting it clatter to the floor.

"You've gone and broken your nice shackles. I'll have to get some new ones now," he tsked. "Until then—"

White-hot pain exploded throughout Percy's right forearm as Lysimar stomped down on it, snapping the bone in two. For the second time he cried out, weakly clutching at the mangled limb with his good hand.

_ "Fuck!" _

"Ooh, naughty boy."

He released Percy and stepped away. He curled in on himself, blinking back pain-shed tears.

“I’m going to dispose of  _ that.” _ Percy knew he meant Riptide. “In the meantime, eat up. You’ll need whatever strength I let you have.”

Something bounced into his field of view—the bread that had been brought in earlier. Percy lifted his head just in time to see Lysimar slam the cell door shut before he was plunged back into darkness.

He fumbled around sightlessly until his good hand closed around the bread. With a grunt, Percy pulled him up into a sitting position.

Well. That could have gone better.

Still, he wasn’t giving up. Riptide would return to his pocket sooner or later, and Percy had trained to fight with his left hand as well as his right. The broken wrist was a handicap, but he’d dealt with worse.

He nibbled experimentally at the bread. It was hard as a rock—stale. Had Lysimar fished it out of a trash can or something?

But it was food, and as much as it pained Percy to admit it, he  _ did _ need his strength. So he bit down on the crusty exterior. 

It was just as hard on the inside, crumbly and dry. As the bread crumbled apart in his hands, he scooped as much of it into his mouth as he could. It was a little humiliating, eating like a starved animal, but he tried not to think about it.

——

Percy’s internal clock was shot. He had no idea how much time had passed since Lysimar’s last visit, but it was long enough that he’d nodded off.

When the massive lock on his door clanged, he jumped awake. A quick patting of his pockets confirmed that Riptide had returned to him, and he scrambled to pull it from his jeans—

Black tendrils launched across the room, slamming into him and pinning him against the wall. He groaned from the impact and, head spinning, tried to focus his vision on Lysimar.

Evidently he’d learned not to drop his guard—he’d struck as soon as the door swung open. Each of the tendrils immobilizing Percy protruded from his left shoulder, and held him fast as he cleared the distance between them. There was no twisted smile on his face.

“Where is it?”

Percy played dumb. “Where’s...what?”

Lysimar’s free hand closed around his throat. “The sword! It vanished.”

Percy rasped something unintelligible, but was ignored. Lysimar’s eyes raked up and down his body, searching for something. 

Then, he let go of Percy’s neck, and patted either side of his hips. To his dismay, he found the pen and pulled it out (Percy tried not to focus on the strange feeling of another hand in his pockets).

“Curious,” Lysimar murmured. “An enchantment, then? It always returns to your person.”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. Percy didn’t need to answer.

“Well, that’s annoying.” Lysimar held up the pen for him to see. It sank into his palm as if trapped in quicksand, disappearing into the murky depths of his body. “But just so we’re certain you’ve got no more nasty surprises...”

The tendrils holding Percy suddenly slithered around his arms and legs like snakes, their razor-sharp tips cutting through fabric effortlessly. He barely had time to realize what was happening before his jeans and hoodie were shredded. Heat flooded his cheeks, but fortunately Lysimar didn’t seem interested in undressing him completely—he left on Percy’s underwear and T-shirt, dropping him to the floor as soon as his other clothes were destroyed.

“Now then.” Lysimar towered over him, his mouth curving into that familiar grin. Percy thought it looked more lascivious now. “Two escape attempts already and I’ve barely touched you. I think you need to understand your place here, mongrel.”

“I only tried once!” Percy shot back, before he could stop himself, but then he froze. Why was he arguing that? It wasn’t as if Lysimar would give him a lesser punishment...would he?

He quashed that line of thinking instantly. He was  _ not _ going to beg or hope for mercy from a monster. Never. Especially not this one.

“Twice,” Lysimar replied simply. He stepped away, crossing the length of the room and crouching down. With a clink of metal-on-metal, he pulled up the chain from the floor and returned to Percy. Then he plunged his own hand inside his side, just beneath where a rib cage would be, and pulled out a padlock.

“This will do for now,” he said, locking the chain to the collar still around Percy’s neck. “As much as I would love to chain you up some more, I don’t think I have to. Do I?”

“Why are you using this stuff in the first place?” Percy asked, ignoring the question with a glare. “Most monsters don’t need mortal equipment. What makes you so special?”

“A chain is a chain, no matter where it comes from. Soon the bonds that hold you won’t even need to be physical.” Lysimar grabbed Percy’s face with one clawed hand. His long, thin tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked at the day-old cut on his face. Percy jerked, trying to pull away, but he was too weak. “I’m looking forward to cracking open that head of yours. Just thinking about all those tasty, tasty little thoughts inside makes me giddy.”

Those dark fingers began to melt into Percy’s skin again, and his mind screamed as Lysimar began another psychic assault.

_ So much loyalty here...and guilt. You really have hurt a lot of people, haven’t you, mongrel? _

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to resist the toxic influence in his mind. _ No...get out... _ _   
_ _ Oh, but I agree! Leo would definitely have survived if you had been a little quicker, a little stronger. There must have been something you could have done to stop it. Why didn’t you? _

That hurt, and it made Percy’s resolve slip slightly, which was all Lysimar needed. He plunged deeper, rifling through Percy’s memories like a kid in a candy store. Images flashed through his mind, like a tape being rewound.

_ Iapetus, Ethan Nakamura, Zoe Nightshade, Bianca di Angelo...my, you’ve left quite a trail of bodies in your wake. And Gabe...your mother lived with him to protect you, so it’s your fault that he hit her, isn’t it? You’re the reason she had to put up with him. _

_ I didn’t kill them, _ Percy shot back, feeling a savage pleasure as Lysimar faltered at his words.  _ But I’m going to kill you. _

_ Keep telling yourself that. _

The flow of memories reversed, now going forward in time. He saw his first battle against the Minotaur, waking up at Camp Half-Blood, meeting Annabeth and Luke...

_ Oh, look at these two. You’ve got a— _

_NO._

Percy’s vision flashed silver, and Lysimar pulled back his hand with a snarl. Reality snapped back into place, and suddenly he was back in the cell.

“What juicy gossip!” Lysimar cackled. “I wonder if  _ she _ knows?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Lysimar slammed his head against the floor, and in the midst of seeing stars, Percy felt him invade his mind again.

He had no idea how long he lay there, letting Lysimar violate him. There was no other word to describe what was happening—every thought, every memory, every shred of privacy he’d ever had, they had all been laid bare for his captor to browse through.

He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life.

Eventually, mercifully, he slipped away into nothingness.

——

For the second time, the bang of his cell door woke him from sleep. He jerked awake violently, recoiling from the light. The figure framed in the doorway rushed toward him before the door had even finished swinging open, and Percy instinctively flinched and shut his eyes as they neared. He didn’t think he could take any more mental torture.

“Percy! Hey!” A hand grabbed his injured wrist, but let go instantly when he cried out. Then it returned, cupping his cheek with a much more tender touch. “Come on, look at me.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Annabeth smiled weakly at him. “Hey there, Seaweed Brain. Let’s get you out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth is here! Or is she?


End file.
